


mirage

by thunderylee



Category: Kanjani8 (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:12:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Fifteen minutes is long enough to pretend.





	mirage

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

_Dear diary, and to all of them_  
Entertain is something I do for a living  
It’s not who I am, I’d like to think that I’m pretty normal  
I laugh, I get mad, I hurt, I think I suck sometimes  
~ Rihanna :: [Question Existing](http://www.metrolyrics.com/question-existing-lyrics-rihanna.html)

The man in the mirror stares back at him, eyes scrutinizing his appearance not out of vain but out of curiosity. Lately it seems like his fans are more acquainted with his body than he is; he’s never had much time to dwell on it, whether in a positive or negative light. He diets and exercises when he’s told and does what he pleases otherwise, unconcerned as to how he looks unless it’s pointed out.

Sometimes oblivion is bliss, sometimes it’s a curse. Yamapi forgets to breathe as he eyes the contours of his own chest, watching in awe as his stomach expands with the newly acquired air. He remembers the six-pack he had for Code Blue and doesn’t miss _that_ training at all, personally thinks he looks healthier without it, less of a sculptured work of art and more like a normal human being.

Unfortunately in this business, normality is not the preferred. His hair frizzes from the leftover steam of his shower and his lips quirk in amusement, wondering what people would think if he ever went out without product in his hair. The perfect Yamashita Tomohisa gets frizzy hair just like everybody else, no way! Such an unbelievable concept – it must be fake!

His eyes continue down past the curve of his hips and the flesh of his thighs, paying no mind to his nudity and uncaring of anyone else who may want to shower. Yamapi’s modesty diminished before he was of legal age in any country, never to be seen again after the infamous An-An shoot. If someone dared him to walk down the street naked, his only problem would be how cold it is outside.

It’s warm in here, but a chill that starts at the base of Yamapi’s spine and travels all the way up to his neck has him shivering. Goosebumps sprout on his skin and he feels the initial twitch of arousal, sparing a passing thought at being turned on by _himself_ before even considering the possibility of someone else in the room.

“Don’t,” Ryo says firmly from the doorway, donned in a towel with wet hair and his shower bag in tow. “You’ll just make yourself miserable.”

“Don’t what?” Yamapi asks quietly, unaware of his words. “Don’t look? Don’t touch? Don’t pretend?”

Ryo places his bag on the counter and walks up behind Yamapi, only a little bit of his left side visible in the reflection. “What do you need to pretend? You’re _Yamapi_.”

The scoff escapes before Yamapi can stop it; he immediately follows it with an apologetic look. “We look good together,” he says, without thinking, no rush to retract or worry about misunderstanding.

Ryo stares in the mirror, tilts his head in thought. “How so?”

Things like the contrasting tones of their skin and their different bone structures swim around in Yamapi’s mind, unable to form actual words like usual. Often Yamapi finds it difficult to express himself in regards to sights he appreciates. All he knows is that Ryo standing next to him makes it better, sheds some light onto the otherwise dreary reflection, and Yamapi doesn’t want him to leave.

He notices that Ryo’s eyes are shamelessly directed downward and feels himself growing hard. “Is that for me or you?” Ryo asks in a low voice, almost a whisper, looking amazed at the sight of an erection forming right in front of him.

Yamapi’s mesmerized too, feeling almost detached from it as his focus seems to be on his reflection instead of his actual body. “Just for an hour, I’d like to be Tomohisa again.”

If Ryo thinks this is an odd statement, he does nothing to show it. “We don’t have an hour.”

“A half hour?” Yamapi tries, even though he knows better.

“Fifteen minutes, tops,” Ryo offers, one arm snaking around Yamapi’s waist to rest his fingertips lightly on a bare hip.

“I’ll take it,” Yamapi says, nodding firmly before meeting Ryo’s eyes in the mirror. “It’s for you.”

Ryo’s in his mouth before he can think, a bruising kiss with the force equivalent to several years of want. Yamapi belatedly realizes that a lot of it is coming from him, one eye open as he turns to face Ryo and whips off his towel, wasting no time pulling him close as he watches their reflections come together.

“To-mo-hi-sa,” Ryo says against his lips, like he’s testing it out, like he’s never used that name before. Even if he had, it sounds drastically different this time and echoes in Yamapi’s mind as he rocks against Ryo, the other hard and pulsing and gasping with each harsh thrust, both desperate for contact.

“Can we…” and Yamapi’s at a loss, glancing around the shower room for somewhere sturdy where he can place Ryo and still see their reflections at the same time.

“Yeah,” Ryo exhales, blindly reaching for his shower bag and tossing a small bottle at Yamapi. “Travel-size,” he jokes, his cheeks tinting in a way that Yamapi doesn’t think is from the humidity.

Location doesn’t seem to matter anymore as he watches his own fingers disappear between Ryo’s legs, feeling him tense and relax in time with his grunts. Ryo grabs onto his shoulders like he’s trying to climb _up_ Yamapi’s body, which he probably is being as one leg is wrapped around Yamapi’s waist and the other one keeps pushing him up off of the ground.

“Wall,” Ryo hisses, and Yamapi doesn’t think before pushing him up against the slick tile. Slamming, more like, but Ryo doesn’t seem to mind as he hops up and balances himself between Yamapi and the wall, a loud moan ripping from his lungs as he starts pushing back against Yamapi’s touch.

Yamapi acts without prior thought, managing to coat himself one-handed and position himself between Ryo’s spread thighs before his brain catches up with him, then presses his lips against Ryo’s neck for some semblance of intimacy. “I-” he starts to say.

“Save it,” Ryo cuts him off, reaching between them to grab Yamapi’s cock and guide it inside him. “We don’t have… _time_ … uh.”

Regretfully his face is hidden by Yamapi’s head, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open as the sight of himself disappearing into Ryo has him moaning as much as the actual feeling of Ryo constricting around him. His hands tighten on Ryo’s ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls Ryo against him with the same force that he thrusts into him.

“Pi-” Ryo starts, then catches himself. “Tomohisa, fuck.”

Yamapi responds with a growl from deep in his throat, his kisses turning into hard sucks and nibbles as his vision distorts and the reflection fades, leaving him with only feeling. Ryo’s small noises in his ear and the way he keeps tightening around Yamapi make them both move faster, no time to be gentle or savor anything, and it’s almost forgiving how Ryo shoves an arm between them and takes his cock in hand, his face in Yamapi’s frizzy hair as he cries out loud enough to echo off the walls.

It’s over too fast, neither one even trying to hold back as Ryo pulls himself off and takes Yamapi with him, the stars and stings of orgasm remaining even after his voice evens out into a relieved sigh. He gently lets Ryo down and automatically leans in for a kiss, one that’s not clouded by desire or an afterthought.

Ryo’s breathing calms as his lips and tongue mesh with Yamapi’s, lazily, like they have all the time in the world. The reality that they really _don’t_ keeps threatening to pop Yamapi’s bubble of perfection, and finally he can’t ignore it anymore.

“How long?” he whispers.

“Two minutes,” Ryo breathes back, tilting his head to deepen their kiss.

Yamapi’s hands slide up Ryo’s chest, feeling the firm muscles along with Ryo’s heartbeat and every breath. For the next two minutes, he allows himself selfish thoughts of lazy weekends in bed and attempting to cook together, Ryo’s bright smile just for him and looking at their fingers intertwined.

A peek to the side shows nothing but steam, and surprisingly Yamapi’s not disappointed. When Ryo reluctantly pulls away and says that they have to go, Yamapi just nods and heads for the door. Not looking back, just looking ahead.

By the time the fog clears, so do the delusions in his head.


End file.
